


The Trojan Horseman and the Prophet's Trap

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [24]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, COVID-19, Cliffhangers, Coronavirus, Heaven, Heavy Angst, Ineffable Bureaucracy, No Smut, Other, POV Gabriel, Plot, Sandalphon Being an Asshole (Good Omens), War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:33:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26441254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: Gabriel did not expect the End of Times to look like this--himself, his onetime enemy (now his lover), and Pestilence riding an escalator to Heaven--but he adapts quickly. He's on a mission, and that mission is the annihilation of Heaven.Failure means Falling, and that's the best-case scenario.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Gabriel & Pestilence
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	The Trojan Horseman and the Prophet's Trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpaceHappened](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceHappened/gifts).



> CW: war (sort of), discussion of war prizes, coronavirus, bit of blood, cliffhanger

Gabriel stood on the escalator, sword in hand. His other hand had settled on the shoulder of his onetime enemy. His dearest friend. His lover.

Behind him, he could feel the heat coming off of his love’s adopted son. The escalator moved slowly, smoothly.

This is not how he pictured the End of Times. Three people on an escalator, riding to their destiny.

"Are we likely to encounter any company at the landing?" Beelzebub asked.

"No," Gabriel answered. "Nobody is on Earth now. Well, except for Aziraphale."

Beelzebub nodded.

He slipped his hand under the demon’s long black hair, bound in a low ponytail behind Beelzebub. His fingers found their neck, the supple flesh there. They looked up at him, blue eyes wide, lips pursed.

Questioning.

He lifted the ponytail and brought his sword to it. The blade was unnaturally sharp and he was very skilled. The sword made a soft ripping sound (almost a sigh) as he brought it up through their hair. He sliced it off, then wound the long, dark tail around his hand. Gabriel slipped it into his inner jacket pocket.

“You’re not going into battle with a handle,” he said.

Beelzebub smiled. “Thank you,” they said, and wrapped their arms around him. “But I was not anticipating a lot of actual combat.”

“Really?” Gabriel asked, surprised.

He curled his arm around them as they nodded.

“If everything goes well, there should not be much fighting. Not much at all,” they said. “Limiting casualties, as I said.”

Casualties. Beelzebub was afraid that Gabriel would be a casualty. They did not want him here. Gabriel knew that.

Gabriel was an Archangel, and his urge to protect was too strong. He could not have stayed behind, even if it was the most sensible thing to do. He would be the sword and shield, even if the one that he loved required neither. It’s what Gabriel was built for.

He was a liability. Pestilence couldn’t be killed, and (as far as he could tell) it would take a mighty effort to end Beelzebub. As long as nobody got a silver collar around their neck, their flies could disperse. As long as one of those bugs survived, they survived.

Gabriel, not able to turn into a swarm of flies, could be discorporated, then thrown in a soul cage. He could be held until Beelzebub managed to overthrow Heaven and find him.

He knew that they would. They were too stubborn. Heaven would yield to them--today or tomorrow or in some future date. He’d never met anybody as determined as the Lord of the Flies.

 _If this fails, I’ll be cast down_ , he thought.

Better to be in Hell with them than in Heaven without.

 _God will strike us all down for this_ , he thought. _There are places worse than Hell_.

Had he not seen the dark places that God commanded the very bad angels to? The Watchers who made the Nephilim? 

Had he not locked them, his brothers, into those prisons himself?

Beelzebub's safety, and the safety of both of them, lay with the destruction of Heaven.

This felt right, heading into war at their side. Not opposed. Could he have faced them on a battlefield?

No. Not if he was being honest with himself. If he’d killed them, it would have been to keep Sandalphon’s wretched hands off of them. Not for any other reason.

“Pestilenzze,” Beelzebub said, their voice low and dangerous. “Let’s see how far we can get into Heaven before they start dying, _nu_?”

“They’re just going to let you in?” Pestilence asked.

“Nobody’s going to see me,” they said, and Gabriel felt them squeeze him a little tighter. “The sword might give us away.”

Gabriel dismissed his sword. “So, just take a walk?”

“Let Pestilence do his work,” Beelzebub said, with a nod. “A Trojan Horseman, if you will. Entering their bodies and dezztroying them from the inside. They’ll eventually realize that they’re in danger." And then, to Pestilence. "How long will we have?”

“Uh...a couple of hours. This strain is really virulent, and getting stronger,” Pestilence answered.

“Should be enough time. I...we...need to find Sandalphon and Nuriel. They’re probably out of Sandalphon's prison already.” They sighed into Gabriel’s suit jacket. “Israfil...he never did say if he recorporated them. Raphael was never a strategist.”

“Alright,” Gabriel said. “What about God?”

“What about Her?”

“What if She intervenes?” Gabriel asked.

“We perish,” Beelzebub said, with a shrug. “But I don’t think She’ll involve Herself.”

“Okay, why not?”

“We’re not destroying anybody, Feathers,” Pestilence said. His eyes were glassy with the fever, and his skin was sheened with sweat. “Just _discorporating_ , right?”

“Correct,” Beelzebub said, and smiled up at Gabriel. “We’re allowed to discorporate each other.”

“But...without a healer...” Gabriel felt realization dawn on him.

“They’re without bodies,” they said, with one eyebrow quirked and a wicked smirk on their lips. “They can’t touch anything, and they can’t use any miracles. They’re just _essence_ \--and they’ll probably hide in Heaven.”

“They’d be...vulnerable?” Gabriel guessed. “Really vulnerable to infernal miracles and Hellfire.”

“The flesh is a shield,” Beelzebub said. “Maybe not the most effective, as Ligur learned, but better than nothing. And it allows them to interact with the world. So we don’t have to destroy _them_ , just their bodies.”

“We let Pestilence do his work,” Gabriel said, understanding the meaning of the demon's words as he repeated them.

“Indeed.”

Beelzebub stepped lightly from the escalator. The landing was deserted, as promised. Angels had little occasion to leave Heaven these days.

“This is our stop. Is Heaven consecrated?” they asked.

“Not anymore.” Gabriel smiled, a wan little thing. “The consecration wore off just before Armageddon didn’t happen.”

Beelzebub nodded. “Pestilence, mist form?”

Pestilence wore a dark, malignant grin as he faded into a white mist, and then dissipated. Gabriel saw wisps of mist floating in the sunny air towards the large archway that marked the boundary of Heaven.

Beelzebub drew their wings (lovely membranous things, veined in black) into the material realm. The brilliant white light of Heaven’s never-ending sunshine shattered when it hit their wings, scattering rainbows over Gabriel, the escalator, and further away.

Beelzebub’s wings fluttered once, twice. The demon began to shrink down. Eventually, a very tiny Lord of the Flies zipped up on the power of their tiny wings. Beelzebub settled in Gabriel's breast pocket, invisible against his dark purple damask pocket square.

“Take me to Sandalphon’s office,” they said. It was a command, but gently given. A request. “Best to get this over with.”

Gabriel nodded and obliged.

He stepped past Muriel at the front desk, smiling as he swept by. In the bright light of Heaven, Pestilence’s mist refracted. A light rainbow settled around Muriel, and her corporation breathed it in.

“Good day, Gabriel,” she said.

“And to you,” Gabriel returned, automatically.

There was a clot of low-ranking angels to Gabriel’s left, chatting and working on their tablets. One of them laughed loudly, and another pointed excitedly at something on the bright face of her sleek white screen.

Gabriel avoided those angels, but Pestilence did not. His faint mist settled over their faces, but they didn’t notice.

Gabriel turned down the corridor that led through the Observation Deck, to the upper levels, where Heaven’s perpetual game of musical chairs had placed his office and Sandalphon’s. Michael and Uriel’s offices were just down the hall.

Hopefully, those two were not in their offices. If Nuriel and Sandalphon put up a fight, he’d prefer not to face down an extra pair of swords.

The Observation Deck was as empty as it usually was. The exception was Uriel, staring at the spinning Earth. Gabriel walked soft behind her. She was absorbed in whatever she was observing, and Gabriel was grateful for that. However, just as he slipped past, Uriel looked up.

“Gabriel,” she said, and she smiled.

“Uriel,” he returned. “Anything interesting going on down there?”

“No,” she said, and her tone was dejected. “Have you heard anything, you know, from upstairs?”

“Not yet,” Gabriel replied, pretending at his usual Heavenly effervescence. “But the Almighty is inscrutable, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Ineffable.”

“Yes, of course,” Uriel returned. She sighed, breathing Pestilence in deeply, as she did it. “Do you smell that?”

“What?” Gabriel asked, alarmed. Had she smelled what she inhaled?

“I smell something...infernal,” she turned her brown eyes on Gabriel, and he could see how the golden flecks that lived in those eyes reflected the sun. “Meeting with Beelzebub?”

“Ah, yes,” Gabriel said, hoping his relief wasn’t too obvious. “In light of Pestilence’s ride, and all.”

“The humans are dying,” Uriel said, softening. “Some of their governments are acting quickly. The Americans, though...”

“It’s Pestilence. He kills people,” Gabriel said, with a shrug. “If this is how it’s supposed to begin...well, eggs and omelets, right?”

“Eggs and omelets,” Uriel agreed. Her tone was distracted. “But about Hell...are they gearing up for war?”

“I just spent two exceptionally boring hours listening to Hell’s infrastructure repair plans, so that’s a no,” Gabriel lied smoothly. “They’re standing down. Permanently, I think.”

“We’ll see, with Pestilence riding,” Uriel countered. “He was always supposed to be the first. Pestilence, then War, then Famine, then Death.”

“Then what, with no Antichrist?”

“Do you really think Satan’s child was necessary for all of this?” Uriel asked. “I say, once Pestilence and the others have ravaged the humans, we just go down there and start stabbing. Look,” and she bodily pulled Gabriel to the globe. “Look. That’s a demon. There’s another. They’re all over the place!” She paused, for emphasis. Gabriel watched her, gamely. “I say we let the Four Horsemen do their jobs, and then kill the fuck out of the demons. They’re ALL topside!”

“Yeah, the infrastructure repair requires that they temporarily relocate.”

Gabriel looked down at the Earth, at humans and demons going about their business. He knew the one that Uriel was watching, Aynaet, her special enemy. One of them, anyways. Aynaet was wearing a mask and very dark sunglasses, prudently stocking up on canned goods and toilet paper in a large supermarket in Atlanta.

A plan came to Gabriel, something that would keep Uriel busy. Michael too, if he ran into her.

“Look, Uriel, you’re doing some top-quality work here,” Gabriel said. “Keep an eye on them, and work up some short-term and long-term scenarios. We can discuss it at the next quarterly meeting.”

“Truly?” Uriel said, and then, “Are you still unmoved on the topic of war prizes?”

Gabriel frowned his most thoughtful frown at Uriel. “Look, at this point, if the Almighty has objection to you giving...special attention...to a couple of demons, She can make her objections known. In person.” He smiled at her. “I’m not going to stop you. Include war prizes in your scenarios, if you like.”

“Excellent,” Uriel said, and went back to her observations of Earth.

Gabriel gave her a nod. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said.

She waved absently, and Gabriel was about forty paces away from her when the nausea set in. This operation had to be successful, or the angels were going to start the Final War with or without permission from the Divine.

The stairwell was crowded, and he couldn’t help but notice the shimmering mist floating around the heads of the angels that climbed and descended. On the second landing, he ran into Michael as she was descending.

“Ah, Gabriel! Where have you been?” she asked. Her tone was breezy, not accusatory.

“Busy with the Pestilence project,” Gabriel returned, just as confidently. “Hey, I just passed Uriel, and she’s working on her own project. She might need some help. She’s on the Observation Deck.”

“What’s the project?” Michael asked.

“Restarting the war,” Gabriel said, quietly. No need to start a riot among a bunch of angels who were already on a hair trigger. “The Four Horsemen are riding, Michael. This is our time.”

“Seriously?”

“I asked Uriel to work up a few scenarios. Long term and short term. Once we get an idea of how fast this plague is going to rip through the humans--we can draw up a timeline for our...reactions,” Gabriel explained. “Moreover, all the demons are topside now, as Hell is under extensive renovations.”

“Ugh, you stink of the infernal,” Michael said, and waved a hand over her face. Her tone was still light, still good-natured. “How long did you have to spend with that little beast?”

“Two hours,” Gabriel said. “Felt like a century.”

“Get a shower,” Michael said. “And sharpen your sword. Uriel and I, we’ll have projections for you, and soon.”

“Excellent,” Gabriel replied. “Good day, Michael.”

“Good day,” she replied, waving as she rejoined the flow of angels moving down, and he joined the stream of angels moving up.

The stream became a trickle as angels stepped out of the stairwell, taking the virus with them to share with any who crossed their paths. Gabriel stepped out on the seventh floor. His floor, which he shared with the other Archangels.

Sandalphon’s office was the first one beside the stairwell. The door did not lock. No doors in Heaven locked. He opened the office.

No matter where Sandalphon’s office was, it was set up exactly the same. Where Gabriel’s office was austere, nearly empty, Sandalphon’s office was cluttered with books, scrolls, and mementos from his travels. A huge bookcase took over the right wall. Sandalphon’s desk, blocky and wooden, stood in front of it. His computer sat on it, facing the bookshelf. There were two chairs in front of the desk. Behind those chairs, a bank of filing cabinets stood along the left wall, flanked by two large armoires. In front of Gabriel, a large window overlooked the clouds. The windowsill hosted a small collection of fat succulents.

Gabriel closed the door behind him and erected a few wards. Nothing suspicious. A basic ward to tell any interlopers that the people in the office were busy. Another to warn him if anyone walked up to the office.

Beelzebub slipped from his pocket and grew to their full height.

"Are we alone?" they asked.

"Yeah," Gabriel said. "I can't sense anyone else."

"Neither can I," they confirmed. “It’s that one.”

They pointed at a small, painted amphora in a line of five similar small, painted amphorae. They were in a line, like soldiers, in front of a group of books on Greco-Roman mythology. Gabriel knew those amphorae well. He'd seen them many times before, and complimented Sandalphon on his collection. He never knew that one of those amphorae was a prison.

The amphorae were nearly identical. Gabriel could have sworn that there were only four the last time he visited Sandalphon in his office, but he must have remembered incorrectly.

“How can you tell?” Gabriel asked.

Beelzebub stepped behind Sandalphon's desk and held it up, “I remember what it looks like. Exactly what it looks like,” they said.

The demon tipped the amphora up and looked beneath it. They showed the base to Gabriel.

A silver fleur-de-lis crown, Beelzebub’s sign, had been painted there. Not their sigil, of course.

That would be incriminating.

“Ah, your sign,” he said. "So that's the one. Are they in there?"

"I'm not certain. It feels empty." Beelzebub turned the amphora over in their hands. "I'm not fool enough to go inside...but I may have to...take more drastic actions. Let me check the others first."

Beelzebub picked up a second amphora, and then a third. Gabriel watched them work, keeping a watchful eye on his wards. Nobody was in the hall. Nobody was interested in the door. 

After handling the fifth amphora, Beelzebub sighed. "These all reek of the divine. I can't tell if they're inside."

"Let me try," Gabriel said. "I'm an Archangel. Maybe I'd be able to sense them?"

"Worth a try."

Gabriel picked up the first amphora, the one that had caged Beelzebub in Ekron. He thought that an object infused with that much suffering would feel like something in his hands, but he felt nothing. Just cold ceramic against his skin. No angelic essence, either. Just the general feeling that any item would have, if it is often handled by an angel.

"Feels empty," he said, with a shrug. "Hey, what did you mean by 'more drastic measures?'"

"Breaking the amphorae," Beelzebub said. "Either with Hellfire or with your sword. Hellfire is dangerous though. I don't want Sandalphon and Nuriel destroyed."

Gabriel nodded and picked up the second amphora.

There was a movement, caught in the corner of Gabriel’s eye. A shadow, moving fast between the window and the desk.

Gabriel turned, but they were both too fast. He groped for his sword, but her steel was quick at his throat. The room grew cold, too cold, as Nuriel (definitely encorporated) dug her blade into his vulnerable flesh. As he began to bleed.

“Hello, poppet. I knew you’d come.” Sandalphon stood behind Beelzebub, wrapping one of his massive arms around their waist.

The amphora slipped from Gabriel's hands and shattered against the marble floor of Sandalphon's office, and Gabriel's whole world went very white and very hot.

**Author's Note:**

> For SpaceHappened, who liked the last part, and has no gifts!
> 
> Notes:
> 
> In this case, the [Trojan Horse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trojan_Horse) is the air the angels breathe.
> 
> In case you missed the rest of this series, Covid-19 affects angels and demons in my world. I started this before Lockdown, so it's not Lockdown compliant.
> 
> [Watchers](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Watcher_\(angel\)) are angels charged with watching the humans. Some of them fell in love (or lust) with human women and made [Nephilim](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nephilim).
> 
> Aynaet is a demon in Ethiopian lore. She is the personification of the evil eye, and a particular enemy of Uriel. Uriel is particularly sacred to Ethiopia.
> 
> I'm trying to finish this series before NaNoWriMo. Let's hope, right?
> 
> (Frankly, with what's in the Atlantic, it's not looking good. Sally is probably going to hit us as a Category 1 hurricane, and Gawd only knows what the systems behind her are going to do.)
> 
> Comments and kudos are high octane writer juice! Concrit welcome!
> 
> Sorry about the cliffhanger. Things are getting messy in the next chapter, and I promise lots of comfort sex after. I swear it!


End file.
